Shots of You and Me
by Silent Sage
Summary: They were just teenagers messing around. They just didn't know how to stop.


**Shots of You and Me**

**Disclaimer**: Mighty Ducks and characters belong to Disney, not me. I'm saddened too. haha

**A/N**: Seriously, what the hey? I was definitely not supposed to write this fic when I already have my hands full with fics that need to be completed.

...

It doesn't mean anything.

They're teenagers fumbling around in Adam's dorm. They've had a jello shot too many at the party on the floor beneath them. It's pretty inspiring that they even made it up to Adam's room.

The harsh sting of bitter liquor is still on the tips of their tongues as they taste one another. The alcohol – stowed into Eden Hall courtesy of Fulton and Portman- is a reminder of how they got in this position in the first place.

Charlie is pressing Adam against the hardwood door, in front of his prized Wayne Gretzky poster, of his empty room. His arms are pressed against him on either side of the lankier teen to keep him in place. Adam's not complaining though, especially when Charlie's tongue playfully licks the inside of his mouth like an eager kitten in front of bowl of cream.

Suddenly, Charlie drops to his knees. His fingers fumble against the button of his jeans and the zipper and the friction from his inadvertent rubbing is making Adam go insane. The clumsy tug of his pants slipping down is worth the wait because it's like watching the sunrise against the darkened horizon when Charlie frees his weeping length from the tight confines of his briefs. Before Adam can utter a word, Charlie's mouth is already wrapped around his dick, his slick tongue eagerly swiping against the sensitive head of his erection.

Adam is biting his lip. His lips are swollen from the kisses from earlier, and they nearly match the flush of crimson along the length of his neck. He has to keep silent or the whole hall will hear his moaning. His hands are in Charlie's hair, twisting the curly strands of dirty blonde in an almost painful manner between his long fingers. Charlie moans, the vibrations from his throat causing Adam to stutter and tug harder. It sends little jolts of electricity down Charlie's spine, acknowledging that this is real. On the downside, it makes it more obvious that he's still aching and erect in his own jeans.

Charlie ignores the twinge of pain along his scalp and his own erection pressing against his jeans. He has more pressing matters to take care of, namely Adam's dick. He opens his slick mouth wider, swallowing Adam's length whole and burying his mouth against it until his nose is flushed against the dark curls of Adam's pelvis and the smell of sweat, spritz of cologne and something uniquely Adam fills Charlie's senses. He hums, pleased and enthusiastic with his taste on his tongue and the way Adam's cock jolts in his mouth when he hollows his cheeks and earnestly sucks on it.

Adam groans, his chest laboriously rising up and down, when Charlie pulls away until Adam's length is out of his mouth. Charlie smears his slick lips with the head of Adam's cock when he gingerly leans forward to lick at the precum leaking from the slit of Adam's cock.

Charlie is not allowed to admire it because Adam is insistently tugging at his hair again, a broken variation of Charlie's name on his lips as he pleads for more, and Charlie complies because Adam begs so prettily. He leans forward to engulf Adam's length, his teeth lightly scratching his length and he can feel the shiver running throughout Adam's body as he thrashes into Charlie's throat and stammers Charlie's name like a prayer.

The head of Adam's penis hits the back of his throat and Charlie is suddenly thankful that he found out by accident –a dare instigated by Goldberg- that he can stuff a whole banana down his throat with little to no gag. Charlie brings his hand up to gently massage Adam's balls between his fingers, the velvety nature of the other's sacks almost makes him want to come, especially when he looks up to see that Adam's eyes are open and staring at him unabashedly.

Charlie widens his eyes and groans. His mouth constricts around Adam's length and suddenly the other teenager jerks forward and his mouth is suddenly overflowing with cum. Adam is calling his name out, holding him firmly against him. He can feel Adam's nails dig into his scalp, but he doesn't care, not when he's attempting to swallow. However, most of it ends up dripping obscenely down the corners of his lips and chin. He pulls his mouth away from Adam's softened dick with an audible 'pop.' He coughs a little into his hand, cum and saliva spraying onto his palm and he's not as dazed as Adam thinks he is because he's shivering and looking down at the floor, afraid to look at Adam after this.

Instead, he hears a thump.

Looking up, he's finally noticed Adam's body slid down the length of the wall until his ass is on his cold floor and his head is slumped against his chest. Like an average teenage boy who just peaked from pleasure, he's knocked out cold.

Charlie is still panting, sitting on his hunches, his dick still throbbing against his jeans and Adam's cum is still on his face.

He leaves.

Adam wakes up with his roommate banging against his door, telling him to get up and let him in. He's still on the floor, his dick lying limply out of his jeans, and his mouth tasting like cum.

…

Charlie is a junior at the University of Minnesota when he gets a call from Coach Bombay. They're having a Ducks reunion.

He hasn't seen the entirety of the Ducks since high school graduation. He's kept in contact with them all: Dwayne at the University of Texas, Luis at the University of Miami, Goldberg at UPenn, Julie, Avermann, Portman, and Adam in Yale, Connie, Guy, Jessie, Fulton, and himself at the University of Minnesota, and Russ and Kenny the farthest in the west coast at University of California – Berkley and Los Angeles respectively.

They talk. Not as frequently as they did in high school or right after during the summer because of sworn promises that they would always, _always_ keep in contact. It's the weekly email, random text, and group chats on the computer when time zones and personal schedules will allow.

He wants to say he can't go. Charlie is sure he can get a friend or teammate to invite him back to their home in a different state so that he can say –stammer, really- that he already has plans and regretfully can't make it.

Ned, a sophomore, is the new forward recruited from New York with the pretty green eyes and crooked grin. He has been hinting lately that he really wouldn't mind Charlie visiting his place for spring break. His parent's house is empty and he's eager for Charlie to visit, better yet _stay_, with him during their break.

Charlie knows Ned's trying to take it slow. Perhaps, he may even _like_ Charlie in a way that involves holding hands underneath the table and movie nights huddled in a blanket with hot chocolate. However, after a tumultuous freshman year –Fulton dubs it his Slut Year- he really isn't in the mood to get the hopes of his _teammate_ up. He knows from experience it never ends well.

He ends up going home to visit after all. He breaks the news to his mom and she's ecstatic and so happy that he's visiting that her voice cracks and she's sniffling into the speaker of the phone when they finally say good-bye. Charlie feels a little guilty that he doesn't visit as much as he should.

The Ducks and Coach Bombay meet at a local pizza joint in Minneapolis. It's weird. At the same time it's reassuring to see everyone and the fact that despite the two years since the last time they saw one another that they really haven't changed at all. The lines of their faces are a little sharper, their bodies more honed and finally out of the stage where they're getting used to the fact that this body is their own, and their eyes a little wiser during their time in college, but they're essentially the same.

The moment the last Duck steps into the pizzeria -Adam Banks- the underlying energy they kept underneath their skin, like _adults_ should, is unleashed and they _finally_ surround one another in one large nest of ducks for a group hug. There's a sigh of relief throughout the group and suddenly, it's like they're back in high school and everything is still the same and they're all still at the awkward precipice of teenager and adult, and enjoying hockey and the future is something distant along their peripheral vision.

Pizza, sodas, and plenty of chatter as they bombard one another with questions. It's even better when their eighth pizza appears, and Julie and Connie finally resign themselves that their diets are a foregone conclusion at this point. They eagerly grab their fifth slice, although Julie has to fight Luis for the largest slice of meat and mushroom pizza. Of course, she wins.

No one seems to notice that Charlie and Adam are sitting at the opposite ends of the table from one another.

Coach Bombay suggests a pickup game and it must be fate or just bad karma because Charlie and Adam are on opposing teams. It isn't as bad as he thought it would be. There's no animosity amongst them, and he's more focused on the adrenaline pumping through his veins, his teammates laughter and voices in his ear, and Coach Bombay cheering and offering words of advice while he skates a alongside them. Charlie forgets everything else except _this_ as he earns a score for his team.

He can't forget though when he's bent over the bathroom sink, toothbrush forgotten on the porcelain countertop, and his boxers around his ankles.

Charlie grunts softly while he grasps the edge of the sink lest he inadvertently bash his head into the faucet. He keeps his eyes tightly shut, the blood rushing through his ears like a storm, his head pointed stubbornly downward, and Adam's dick buried in his ass.

Sweat is trickling down his face. He can taste it along his lips. Adam's body is a furnace behind him. His t-shirt, old and frayed through overuse, is soaked through and he can feel Adam's pebbled nipples rub against his back every time he drives forward into him.

Adam is gripping his hip with one hand in an attempt to hold him still, his blunt fingernails digging into Charlie's soft flesh, while the other hand is wrapped around his swollen dick, jerking him off with fast, even strokes timed with his deep thrusts.

Charlie's teeth are digging into the swollen, red flesh of his bottom lip to keep him from making any more noise than necessary. His mother isn't home, but the walls of his house are thin and the neighbors are nosy.

Adam is murmuring something along his collarbone. His mouth is moving against his neck when he's not licking the delicate patch of skin that connects shoulders and neck. Charlie cannot make the words out since he's concentrating on taking in the fury of Adam's hips as he pistons forward inside him, slamming into his prostate and jostling his leaking dick against the sides of the hardwood cabinets. He makes the mistake of looking up, looking right into the mirror, and he sees himself.

And Adam.

Adam is staring right at him, his blue eyes desperate and dilated to almost pitch black.

Charlie comes, his voice gasping out Ned's name in a low groan. Adam stiffens behind, his grip on his hip tightening at the sound of another's name before he thrusts one last time inside him and then he stills. Charlie can feel Adam's ball press against the reddened skin of his ass and suddenly, there's a rush of heat inside of him.

He can't feel his legs anymore and really, Charlie doesn't think he could gather the energy to care at this point. He vaguely hears the snap of a condom being thrown into the trash and then he closes his eyes and slumps forward, his head resting against his arm. He's still halfway conscious at this point and absently, he reminds himself to send Ned a text since he promised his eager junior that they would still talk during break. He doesn't feel the terrycloth gently wiping his skin of sweat and other fluids, or the strong arm holding him up and dragging his half-conscious body back to his bed.

He never does feel the press of lips against his own or the quiet click of his door closing as Adam leaves and sleeps on the couch.

…

Charlie is finished with his last game in the minor leagues when he realizes that this isn't what he wants. He is one of the top prospects for the major leagues next year and while sitting in his ratty apartment, a beer in hand, and Adam's NHL profile on ESPN on his computer screen, does he realize that while he loves hockey, he really does, he just wanted the family that came hand-in-hand with the game.

He loves the game, he's competitive by nature, and although he may not be the strongest or fastest player, he is an overall good player.

Charlie wants something more though.

The next morning, he goes to the coach and formally hands in his resignation. He sincerely thanks his coach and team for the amazing experience and a great year. He turns around and leaves, the door shutting quietly behind him. That next afternoon, he goes to the bank to get a small business loan, which they happily sign because he's sort of a hometown hero still. The new week, he signs the lease to reopen Hans' sports good store. That night, brochures of online graduate schools on his lap and boxes of receipts and loose-leaf papers from Hans' 'records' –_major_ understatement- by his feet, that's when Charlie opens a new word document.

He sends an email to the Ducks.

He's ready for bed when he gets calls.

He is Captain Duck after all.

There are concerns.

Bombay already spoke to his mother. He's not depressed and _yeah, Coach, I haven't gone of the deep-end_. Yes, yes, _yes_, he knows what he's doing and _don't worry, I'm not going to be a deadbeat, I'm literally looking at graduate schools right now _and _yeah, I love you_ _too mom_ before he can get off the phone to answer the other calls waiting for him.

There are reassurances.

Connie owns a bakery on the other side of the street from Hans-no, _Charlie's_ store, and she promises he has the first pick to whatever day-old bread he wants. Guy states that he better not eat all of the bear claws before he has one because those are his favorite, but then Charlie hears a thump, Guy groaning –Connie probably jabbed him in the stomach- and _of course you can have all the day-old bear claws you want, Charlie._

Kenny says, despite the fact that he's all the way in California, that he'll be more than happy to help Charlie with his taxes and accounting.

Overall, everyone is supportive of him.

And then there is Adam.

Charlie just finished talking to Luis. He's currently in Puerto Rico and offering a bed in his summer house to Charlie in the case he ever gets tired of the cold Minnesota winters and _Hey, the babes are fun to look at and they have gay friends too, so Charlie, come visit and we'll par-tay _and when he finally sets his phone down and catches his breath, his phone is already ringing again. Adam's name is neatly labeled out and by the third ring; Charlie realizes he has to answer it. He is scrambling for it when he accidently knocks it onto the floor and he literally falls out of bed to catch it, but he has the phone in his hand and his thumb inadvertently swiped against the 'Accept' option. He is lying sprawled on the floor of his bedroom when he hears Adam's tentative 'hello?' echo in his small bedroom.

"Hey Adam," Charlie breathes, his face flushed and aware that he is breathing hard and Adam is stuttering and asking if he's interrupting anything.

"N-no!" Charlie responds immediately as he grasps his comforter as leverage to bodily pull himself up from the floor. He's sitting on his bed, and gripping the phone tighter and hoping that Adam doesn't hang up on him.

Adam pauses and Charlie feels his stomach curl in on itself and a feeling of hopelessness is setting on his shoulders and he's waiting to be disappointed but then Adam speaks.

"I-I'm in town next week for a game. Would it be okay…" Adam says slowly, as if waiting for rejection, "If were to come visit?"

_Oh_, Charlie thinks.

"I would really like that," he says.

"I'll see you then," Adam replies.

Charlie doesn't know what to say next but he's curled up in his bed, a throw pillow in his arms, and an optimistic grin on his face.

Adam doesn't hang up either. His breathing is deep, steady, and soothing, and Charlie really doesn't want to disrupt this- whatever _this_ is.

They listen to one another breathing the whole night.

The phone is still on when Charlie wakes up.

He's glad he went with the unlimited evenings and weekend plan for his phone.

Surprisingly, they don't fuck when Adam visits.

Instead, they cook dinner in Charlie's little apartment. He's standing in front of the stove, browning the meat for their pasta dinner –one can never go wrong with carbohydrates, he learned quickly from hockey and his time in college- and Adam is chopping vegetables for their salad. There's garlic bread baking in the oven and suddenly for the first time in a very, very long time, Charlie feels like he's at home.

It's surreal.

Especially when Charlie is reaching for the tomato sauce and Adam is doing the same because he predicted Charlie wanted the tomato sauce and planned on handing it to him, except their fingers brush together.

They jolt.

Charlie is facing his browned meat with a face so red that it could rival the tomatoes and Adam somehow found himself on the other side of the kitchen, murmuring apologies.

The jar of tomato sauce is forgotten on the countertop.

Charlie smiles shyly, looking at Adam from underneath the dark fan of his eyelashes, and softly thanks him.

Adam returns his thanks with a dopey smile that Charlie hasn't seen since they were teenagers. He's finding it hard to squash that weird feeling in his chest from growing.

It almost feels like hope.

…

Charlie is flipping through channels, absently eating a day-old croissant with a healthy smear of grape preserves when he sees Adam's face on the screen. He's having a press conference. He's retiring at the age of 32 and he's stating that he's thankful for all the support he's been given and that he truly does love and will miss playing professional hockey. He says -a blush staining his high cheekbones- that he wants to seek other opportunities.

Grape preserves are bitch to remove from clothing.

After he changes his shirt, Charlie is back behind the counter of his store, staring at his phone. Adam's name on the call log, and his finger is millimeters away from the screen. He's just a press away from calling Adam.

He doesn't call.

Instead, he puts his phone back in his drawer and slides out of his seat and slowly walks to the back of the store. He has to restock the shelves. Ice skating practice lessons start in two weeks and he expects a herd of mothers and their excited children to flock his store for the next few days.

One month later and Charlie is sitting behind the counter and wondering what to do today.

It's a slow day.

Then again, Wednesdays are generally the dead days for sports equipment shopping.

Charlie's already been to the bank, sharpened skates, swept the floor and dusted the shelves and counters, and his shop is overall very tidy.

He's thinking about putting his head down on his desk –he has a bell at the door to signal incoming customers- and taking a little nap. Instead, he pulls his laptop from his messenger bag. He opens his laptop and starts a video chat with Connie while she's working at her bakery. She's covered in flour, her hair in disarray, and a little tired, but she's more than happy to have a seat and talk with him during her break. Guy is in the back cleaning up and chatting with Joshie, and it's after the lunch rush so she has a chance for a little relaxation before they have to worry about the pre-dinner rush.

Charlie is playfully teasing her about when he's going to see his godson on the ice –he's only one, Connie says with a determined sigh even though he knows Guy secretly takes little Joshie with him on the ice whenever she's at the bakery doing her creative experimentations with bread- when he hears the familiar ring of the bell.

A customer.

He looks up, politely excusing himself from Connie –she says she'll wait; she desperately wants to barter sandwiches and rolls for free babysitting from Charlie- when he notices exactly who his customer is.

"Hi," Adam says.

"Hi," Charlie says back.

It's been a month since Adam's news conference and there has been a serious lack of one-on-one conversations on their part since seeing it on TV. Charlie has made sure that whenever Adam calls, that Connie, Guy, or a friend is around so that he can put it on speakerphone. Even when Charlie is online and Adam is making a request to video chat or just chat, Charlie invites one of the Ducks into the conversation. Even though it's awkward, Charlie stubbornly doesn't want to hear what he has to say.

"I-" Adam beings before he shuts his mouth and looks away.

Charlie waits. Every cell in his body is screaming at him to flee or at the very least turn the laptop around and state he should say 'hi' to Connie, but Adam has this determined look on his face. Adam has always been a stubborn guy and if he's back in plain old Minnesota instead of partying it up somewhere, then it has to be important.

After several minutes of quiet, Adam finally blurts, "May I ask you out on a date?"

That…was not what he was expecting.

Adam was never one to do the expected.

Charlie is a little dazed. He's wondering if what he heard was right. Despite the many, many, _many_ times they've fucked, they have never once formally labeled what they were doing beyond what he thought it was: fucking. High school, college, those random visits when their schedule allowed them visit one another at a nearby hotel. It was just fucking.

Charlie didn't think he was allowed to think of it as anything beyond.

Adam is –was, his mind stated obnoxiously- a premier hockey player, back in the pee-wees and even now after his early retirement. He was accepted into he NHL right after college while Charlie was a minor league player that had potential but threw it all away to go back home to Minnesota to reopen an old skate shop that had been closed for far too long.

It takes a moment, but he finally realizes he hasn't responded to Adam yet. The other man is squirming now, shuffling his feet and looking down at the freshly swept floor and up at Charlie every few seconds. It looks like there's an apology on his lips when Charlie finally says quietly, a shy smile on his lips, "Yes."

"Oh," Adam says, honest delight on his face, "Good."

"Don't expect me to put out on the first day though," Charlie warns as he leans forward across the counter.

There's a mock pout on Adam's lips but that disappears fast when Charlie _finally_ presses his lips against his. It's a sweet kiss and it's been a long time coming. Every emotion since high school is poured into it, the insecurities, the days where Charlie would stare at his phone and hope and wait, the time in college when he was sleeping around, dating Ned –that only lasted a month- and the time when he was reopening Hans' store and struggling opening his own business and Adam with his business degree was there for support.

At the insistence of Adam's tongue against his, he thinks this really clicks.

Charlie whimpers when Adam pulls away but he doesn't move far. Instead, he presses his forehead against Charlie's, eyes blue eyes watery with relief and happiness. His hands are on his face, delicately cupping his cheeks, his thumbs gently following the curve of his face.

Someone knocks on the window of Charlie's store and interrupts them. They both turn around, Adam still has a possessive arm around him, a little frazzled and apprehensive to see who their audience may be, only to see Guy, with a bundled and babbling Joshie in his arms, and Connie waving enthusiastically at him through the window. Connie holds up her phone, pointing to it and by the next hour, Charlie is pretty sure all the Ducks and a third of the town will know of what just occurred.

Adam doesn't seem to mind the audience though. Instead, he leans down for another kiss and Charlie is more than obliging.

This means everything.

* * *

><p><strong>SS<strong>: Um. Yeah. Wasn't supposed to write this. Totally did. Still, review please!


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